“He hasn’t any brothers or sisters or father or mother,” continued the nurse, “and his grandfather’s nearly always away; and ever since he was a little fellow he tells me he’s been used to taking his meals with the picture of this emperor propped against the sugar-bowl; and he declares that this statoo, or figger, or whatever you call it, is like the photograph, and he just worships it; and if he sees any one leaning against this slab, or throwing stones near it, it just makes him crazy; and Virgie knows it, and she does it to tease him; and it ain’t his fault if he struck her or whatever he did,” and the girl threw a glance of defiance at the other nurse.
The sergeant smiled amiably. Among his multifarious duties he was quite well accustomed to being called on to act as arbiter in disputes between young nursery-maids or between their charges; and being somewhat of a philosopher, he was well adapted for the office.
The first thing he usually did was to give the parties engaged in controversy time to get cool while he went off on a side issue; so he said, in a deliberate fashion, “According to my humble opinion, if I was called upon suddenly for it, I should say that there isn’t much resemblance between John Boyle O’Reilly and the great Bonaparte. In the first place, O’Reilly never used a razor on his upper lip; and I guess the great Bonaparte did, judging by his pictures. How do you get over that, son?” and he directed his attention to the small boy in a paternal way.
Eugene looked up adoringly at the silent face above them, and spoke in a choking voice. “I have talked over the affair with Monsieur my grandfather. He agrees with me that there is a slight resemblance. Perhaps after the noble martyr went to St. Helena he was not allowed the use of a razor. Those abominable English”—
His utterance failed him to such a degree that the sergeant stared curiously at him. Was it possible that this small boy was shaken with emotion over the sufferings of the ambitious and despotic arbiter of men’s destinies who was so long since dead?
Yes, it was—the boy was in earnest.
“Do you believe in my emperor?” he asked, turning seriously to the sergeant.
“Well, I don’t know,” said the officer dryly. “I owe my allegiance, as I suppose you’d call it, to our President, to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and to the great American Union. However, I can say I believe in Napoleon to this extent—I believe he lived.”
“If you insult him,” said the boy gravely, “you are my enemy. I worship him. Long live the emperor—his memory will never die;” and his lips moved softly while he again lifted his little cap from his head.